


Unity- the Untold Story of the French Brotherhood

by LyoAquila



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types, Assassins creed unity
Genre: Cute, Enemies to Friends, F/M, Fluff and Angst, French Revolution, Friends to Lovers, Gen, M/M, Pieces of Eden, Team as Family, Time Travel, nerds against the world
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-16
Updated: 2018-07-05
Packaged: 2018-11-01 07:31:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10917210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LyoAquila/pseuds/LyoAquila
Summary: Liberte. Egalite. Fraternite.A revolution is rising in France, challenging the ways of the old and the new, while a struggle for power breaks out like never before. In these desperate times, loyalties will be tested, and the Assassins may find that staying united as a brotherhood will be their toughest trial yet…A rewrite and fix-it of Assassin’s Creed Unity, featuring Arno’s co-op companions as actual characters, new Pieces of Eden, and no modern day references.(formerly a collaboration with Epherians)





	1. 00- Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone and welcome to this new project!
> 
> It has born about four years ago after the release of AC Unity's cinematic trailer when I saw Arno and his three friends take down the Bastille on their own. Needless to say, I've instantly fell in love with them but when the actual game came out and there was no trace of Arno's battlepals in the main story I've been quite sad -not the only one in the AC fandom luckily XD.
> 
> So, in collaboration with the very talented Epherians first and the help of my amazing beta Darth Tofu later, this thing -finally!- saw the light. 
> 
> It's been a long bumpy journey, not even near to its end but I'm finally able to present to you:
> 
> UNITY- THE UNTOLD STORY OF THE FRENCH BROTHERHOOD
> 
> To the people who aren't afraid to change the world day by day, to the ones who stick together through the storm, to you my friends!
> 
> Stay brave -Lyonesse Aquila

**[Prologue]**

The Council had just been reeling from the news of commotion at the Bastille, when Bellec came in and announced the young man he escaped the Bastille with would be coming to join the Assassins--provided that he could find their secret entrance. That was the candidate’s first test.

The appearance of a new assassin candidate was always surprising news, but even more surprising was the identity of the candidate himself. 

“So the son of Charles Dorian returns to us,” Mirabeau announced. 

At this, three Assassins who were walking down the adjoining hall stopped to listen, even though this was a conversation only between the Council and the candidate. But those were too juicy news to ignore. 

“Bellec thought you wouldn’t come. What changed your mind?”

“I’m tired of running from my failures…” said the young man, a weary and shamed soul still in tattered clothes from prison. Quite a sorry sight for the heir of a legend, really. “ _ Monsieur _ de la Serre, my father… I want to make it right.”

“Drink,” the Mentor commanded. As the young man drank from the chalice, he quickly dropped it in shock before clutching his head and crumpled to the ground.

\----------------------------------------

“I don’t think we should spy on him” whispered the tall man in light brown “it’s not fair for the fledgling and beside that if the Council catch us we’re  _ tous dans la merde _ ”

“Since when you’re so against snooping around, Ander?” hissed his shorter companion quietly slipping behind the folds of the heavy drapings surrounding the main room.

The third team member, a bear-like man with a big axe strapped to his back, let out a long-suffering sigh. “I really hope this won’t end with us kicked out to some God-forsaken outpost for pissing the Council off” he whispered warily looking around himself.

Weathered killers they may have been but in front of the strict judgemental Masters they all felt like unruly children, vaguely ashamed and with an excuse always ready.

“Sticking your nose in Templars’ business is a thing but this is just wrong! How would you feel in his place, Corbin?” his voice raised to an angry stage-whispering as he made to grab partner’s arm and pull him back.

Corbin laughed sarcastically “Who cares of some flimsy butthurt Novice, you’re just scared of Master Bellec’s yelling” he muttered clearly enough to be heard by the other two “such a  _ gallina _ !*”

“At least I’m not a teacher’s pet like you!” hissed back Ander crawling after his team mate, cowl raised to hide his embarrassment. 

“Damn kids!” The huge man couldn’t do anything but follow his companions into the thick shadows, hopefully they won’t get into too big trouble.

\----------------------------------------------------------

 Everyone in the Brotherhood knew that drinking from the Fountain of Truth hurts, both in body and mind, but Ander had never seen someone react that badly to the nightmare-inducing water; the boy was writhing on the floor, lips parted in a silent scream of agony as the enchanted liquid made him relive his worst memories to (hopefully) find a way to fix them. Every Assassin had been through that challenge but seeing it from outside was well, awful. Completely awful in every possible way and Ander couldn’t help but sympathise with the poor soul.

Now he understood why no one besides the highest ranks could assist an initiation; fighting against inner demons was a very private moment in which weaknesses were revealed  and the Order made sure no one could use them against the newly recruited Novices but honestly sometimes he was a bit too competitive for his own good.

There was no way he would shy from a challenge -even a stupid, potentially disastrous one like this- even if it’d get him into terrible troubles. 

News in the Brotherhood could travel very quickly and in a matter of hours everyone knew that Charles Dorian’s long lost son had been found and returned to the Creed so everyone wanted to take a peek at the mysterious boy and, after losing a race up Notre Dame’s towers, Ander and his two teammates had been sent to get some juicy news—not that he wouldn’t have done the same by his own will, mind you. 

It seemed like hours had passed when the boy finally got up, still a bit shaky but with a newfound determination in his eyes, ready to start his new life in the Creed and Ander had the sensation that that wasn’t the last time their paths would cross .

“These are the words spoken by our ancestors. The words that lay at the heart of our creed.” One by one, the Masters spoke.

“Stay your blade from the flesh of the innocent.”

“Hide in plain sight.”

“Never compromise the brotherhood.”

“Let these tenets be branded upon your mind. Follow them, and be uplifted. Break them at your own peril. Rise, Assassin.”

Bellec fastened a gauntlet on Arno’s left wrist, granting the new Assassin with his hidden blade.

“Arno Dorian is dead. He has been culled from this world, with sins and failures turned to dust. Tonight he is reborn, a novice of the Assassin Brotherhood.”

After a pause, the Mentor turned his head to the side, as if to address someone from the outside.

“Come out of there, you three.”

Whoops.

*Spanish for ‘scaredy cat’


	2. 01- In Which Family is Found but not in the Conventional Way

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arno meets new people, nearly has a revelation on his mysterious past and generally has a Bad Day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Horribly, unforgivably late but there it is!

**01, Where Family is Found But Not in the Conventional Way**

Like a parent who knew where his unruly children were hiding, Mirabeau gestured for the three figures to leave the shadows. Out they came to the confused looks of the newcomer and the stern looks of the Council leaders.

“You…called for us?” a scruffy, bear-like man hesitantly spoke up. He seemed the oldest of the three and the only one who didn’t look like a kid caught with their hand in the cookie jar.

“You witnessed something that wasn’t meant for your eyes,” said the strict-looking woman, her voice reverberating in the empty hall like a death knell, “and actions should be taken. What say you, recruit?”

The boy, Arno, looked away uncomfortably. “I, I don’t know,” he blurted out after some moments of silence. “They did nothing wrong, I think.” the Novice really didn’t know what to do: on one hand he didn’t want to upset the Mentors but on the other, he didn’t want to wrong the other Assassins either. He felt absolutely embarrassed and only wanted to crawl out of that sticky situation.

“It seems an opportunity has presented itself,” said Master Beylier. “Our recruit could use the training and experience when helped by others more familiar with our line of work.”

This startled the three, especially the small green-clad Assassin whose eyes widened. “Wait. Are you saying…?”

“Indeed,” Master Quemar nodded. “We have a novice and a rising situation on our hands—we can’t just stand idly and wait for time to pass. It would be most beneficial to assign his training to you three. What do you say on this, Mirabeau?”

The Mentor responded, a small benevolent smile tugging at the corner of his thin lips, “It is settled. Fate drew you all together and from now on your destinies will be one. Stay close, stay strong and victory will be yours.

“You have a year to make a true Brother out of this Novice. Use your time wisely, my children. Safety, peace and _vive les Assassins_.”

\----

As the Masters stood up to leave, Arno was suddenly being escorted out by the three more experienced  Assassins he barely just met.

The more approachable-looking of the three, a red-haired fellow dressed in light shades of brown, grinned brightly at the still unsure recruit. “Well, you’re officially one of us now! I’m Ander, lore and science expert in this team. That grumpy little guy over there is Corbin, our pocket-sized one man army, and the big bear is Finn, our trusted leader and personal fledgling-sitter.”

Corbin and Finn were ready to react with a simultaneous “Who are you calling little!?” and “Wait, how am I the leader?!” but Arno quickly felt the need to respond to his new peers in kind. “Oh, um—it’s a pleasure meeting you all…?” He greeted with a nod of head.

“Yeah, well, we’re not all like this guy,” Corbin gestured to Ander, “and we didn’t exactly sign up for this. If I knew we had to supervise the novice for coming in to the Council room, I would’ve stayed five more minutes behind the curtain!”

Finn shook his head. “It looks like we’re on our own for this one; I doubt the Masters are gonna change their mind. Well, Arno, the best way to learn who Assassins are is to… do as Assassins do.”

“Of course!” grinned Ander. “I have so much to show you! You need to see our Nest, meet the contacts, learn our traditions, and of course, learn how to fight! I hope you know how to hold a sword ’cause Cor here is gonna beat you black and blue! He’s a bit evil, you know, but loyal to the bone.”

At this, Corbin raised an eyebrow, curiosity piqued. “Oh?” Doing a double take at the confused Arno, he started to grin. “That I can school you in.”

Finn cleared his throat. “Well first things first: you need a bath. No offense kid, but you stink. Badly.”

“Indeed,” Ander nodded, making a disgusted face, “you can’t run around looking like something kicked out of the Court des Miracles! But this can be easily fixed when we’ll get to the Nest.”

Arno felt a bit dizzy with all this rush of information, he could only keep asking more questions. “What is the Nest?”

“Home.”

\--  
After some time spent showing Arno how to navigate the maze-like underground HQ, the four men left the dark, spacious halls for the humid, moldy old tunnels that stretched out inside the city like blood vessels through a living body.

“What is this place?” asked Arno in a whisper, trying to keep himself as far as possible from the piles of old bones littering the walls.

“Where have you lived?” muttered Corbin glaring at the young recruit, “In the palace of Versailles? This one won’t last a month… what a waste of time!”

Ander let out a bark-like laugh and dangled the small lantern in front of his face. “Tombs,” he explained, the flickering light tracing weird shadows on his pale, doll-like face, “more ancient than the city itself, extending for miles and miles like a giant rat nest. A massive, haunted rat nest in which people disappear without a trace.”

“Careful to not get lost, _princeza*_ ” Corbin added casually walking ahead and disappearing in the darkness of the maze.

Arno swallowed uncomfortably, quickening his pace. “And why are we crawling through this so-called rat nest then, if I may?” he asked, sounding a bit too squeaky for his own likings. He really didn’t want to make a fool of himself in front of his newly acquired partners but he couldn’t help but shy away from the old moldy bones and nearly jump at every tiny unusual noise; Arno had always hated ghost stories, legends and the mere thought of confronting something impossible to kill or incapacitate was stuff his nightmares were made of.

“The Catacombs are the fastest and safest way to get to most districts,” explained the big fellow, Finn (... or Phil?) patiently. “Some parts are controlled by extremists but at least you won’t get caught in some rally like up in the streets.” The bear-like man said it as if the risk of being killed by an angry mob was a mere annoyance and Arno found himself wondering if these so-called Assassins were completely insane and if he would ever be alive to see the Revolution end—or the new year—start.  
Probably they were beyond insanity but the alternative was a death sentence for killing his adoptive father, which was kind of unfair since he just ended up drunk in the wrong place.        
He’d probably end up dead anyway so whatever, roaming the rooftops with people who at least had shown him a bit of humanity was way more appealing than rotting in prison ’til justice deemed him ready to part from his head.

\---------

It took them almost an hour that felt like an eternity for Arno to finally reach their destination: a creaky old stairway to what looked like a rickety trap door.  
Arno was a bit disappointed to be completely honest. He had expected a secret door or something like that but… old stairs. Boring, ordinary old stairs.

“So” the ginger perpetually-grinning guy, Andrè or something like that, turned around with an over-dramatic bow, “Welcome to our realm, young recruit!”

Arno stared at him as if he were completely crazy; what the hell was Gingerbird—for the man looked like an overexcitable, red-colored owl, all quick moves and big unnerving too wide eyes—talking about?

“Are we going to live in a basement?” He asked a bit confused but no one answered him. Only the little green jerk muttered something that sounded suspiciously like “pathetic” but the young recruit decided to ignore that comment. He was taught better than pick a fight with potentially deadly people with a small dog complex, after all.

The tall ginger crawled up the stairs and climbed through the trapdoor to light some lanterns in the basement that, by the way, wasn’t an ordinary basement at all.

The rickety trapdoor led to a big underground room that looked like a strange mix between an alchemist’s laboratory, a warehouse, and what remained of a battlefield. There were all kind of papers and books covering the floor and what looked suspiciously like a dissecting table, and a corner of the wall was occupied by a massive map of the city crowded by colored wires, messy notes and indescribable stains.

Arno let out a soft curse when he tripped on an half-burned umbrella and almost fell flat on his face like an idiot.

“Careful with my experiments, please” chided Gingerbird picking up some stray contraptions reverently, “and don’t touch anything. I’ve possibly lost a couple of incomplete light bombs in this mess.” He added with a sheepish laugh.

Arno gulped loudly and shoved his hands in the pockets of his ragged trousers. “L-light bombs?!” He almost shrieked, jumping back when the green jerk kicked away something small, round and kind of bomb-like.

“ _Ja_ ,” came the distracted answer from behind a stack of crates that almost reached the moldy ceiling “but don’t worry, they’ll just blind you for a week or two if you drop them. Nothing big. Or deadly, _je crois*_ at least”

“Don’t snoop around, _chico*_ , and you’ll be safe.” added the snarky little guy with a venomous grin “Probably.” Smug, pint-sized bastard.

Arno followed the three Assassins up another flight of stairs, this time a lot more well-kept, through a decorated wooden door and into what looked like a bookshop or a library with piles of old books stacked in every corner and poofy pink sofas scattered all over the place. It looked nice and elegant, even if a bit too frilly for his tastes.

“Welcome to our cover-up activity, the Petit Pijon Voyageur Bookshop,” grinned Gingerbird proudly. “You’ll work here with me while you learn fencing, freerunning, and all the special skills every Assassin needs. In this shop we gather intelligence and ancient books to be studied, and also it's our Bureau, or Nest as we call it.” The auburn haired Assassin’s smile was fond as he ran his long, elegant gloved hands over the spine of an ancient-looking book. “It’s our home, our safe place… we lead a dangerous life but in here, we’re safe.”

Arno was surprised at how soft and almost sad the other man’s voice sounded, as if he was speaking of something dear and easy to damage, and as he spoke the other two busied themselves fixing things up for his stay. It seemed like they were putting a lot of effort in sounding as crazy as they could, but in fact they were actually pretty decent people.

“Your bath’s ready,” called Finn’s booming voice from somewhere upstairs.

Arno followed the bear-man’s call like a kid drawn to the smell of freshly baked cookies up some centuries old stony stairs—some of the steps had dents and some were so used that the ancient feet had consumed them—to a long, pleasantly blue painted hall.

There are several doors lining up the walls and a large window at the very end; some doors are closed, one has a “Do Not Enter- C.” tag and a heavy lock and another was wide open and had pleasantly scented steam coming out: the bathing chamber, finally.

There were also other stairs leading to a third floor but Arno decided to leave exploration for another time, after a long nice hot bath and possibly a good helping of not-prison food.  

Arno walked down the elegant hall silent and curios like a cat getting used to a new home: there were framed pictures on the walls of strangely dressed people and exotic places, ruins gnawed out by countless centuries carefully sketched out on delicate paper and intricate symbols that were at the same time unknown and familiar to the young recruit. Staring at them for too long gave him a strange dejà vu sensation so he decided to ignore them, for now at least.

“You got charmed by Cor’s art?” asked a deep voice somewhere above his shoulder and Arno almost jumped in surprise.

“ _Quoi*_?” he squeaked—a totally manly squeak, of course—turning around to collide with Finn’s enormous velvet-clad chest.

“You sure are a jumpy little fledgling!” laughed the bear-like man taking a step back and casually leaning on the pale blue wall. “I just asked you if you got fascinated by Corbin’s sketches, no need to fret,” he asked somewhat amused by Arno’s lack of attention.

Finn seemed completely at ease, sleeves rolled up and a warm smile firmly in place like the very picture of friendliness and Arno felt himself relax a bit for the first time after his adoptive father’s demise.

The boy smiled nervously “I just got a bit distracted, sorry.” Being with these people just a few hours was bringing back his long buried awkwardness, which by the way made him say things without thinking first.  “Really that sour onion made these?!”  asked the young almost-recruit, then he realized the not so nice therm he called his green-clad teammate with and blushed furiously.

Finn broke into a loud roar-like laugh. “Sour onion!” he howled “You got it perfect! My gods kid, you’re hilarious! Just don’t come up with something like that in front of him”  
“ _Désolè*_ , sir” blurted out the young Novice, face redder than the Revolutionary flag “it was rude and uncalled for-”  
The big bear of a man laughed even harder “No sirs here, kid” he said after he managed to calm down a bit “just friends and Brothers, but let’s leave Assassins school for later! For now you just need a good bath and something decent to eat!” Then he simply walked away.

Arno quickly made for the bathing chamber before he’d made a fool of himself with someone else, slammed the door as if all hell was after him and just sat down on the cold floor.  
The day was getting crazier any passing minute, first he got arrested for killing his own adoptive father -mon dieu Elise would hate me for that!- then some rude madman got him out of prison and finally this… new life thing! It makes no sense, everyone here seems to know what to do beside him and it’s just not good: his whole life -or what he could remember of it- had been strictly planned, from his studies to his future in the Templar Order, and he had always knew what other people expected of him… at the time he had found that polite predictable game of chess boring and only wanted some freedom in his life but now that he had finally got what he craved he just felt alone and lost.  
He had been too busy staying alive to properly mourn the loss of his (old) family but now, in the relative safety of this new place - not home, home is gone- , he felt all the guilt and pain weight him down like a bricks wall… or maybe he was just tired.

“I can’t change the past” he said out loud getting up from his brooding spot on the floor “but I can right the future” A plan was slowly but surely forming in his head: learn everything he could, find Elise, get her trust back and then together avenge Monsieur De La Serre. Yes, that’ll do.

The boy swiftly got rid of his stained clothes and stepped into the large tub filled with bubbles and warm delightfully clean water. It felt like heaven on his aching bones and restless mind.

At some point, exactly how much later Arno couldn’t tell, someone called him from the other side of the door in a loud, highly annoyed tone.  
“Oi!” shouted the rude someone “You drowned in there, _princeza_?”  
The green little bastard, of course.  
Arno bit back a sharp remark and reluctantly stepped out of the water -it got cold anyway- careful to leave a nice trail of puddles for the sour onion to mop up. Yes it was petty, yes it was mean and no he wasn’t sorry.  
Still sopping wet he wandered around the room searching for some clean clothes and maybe a warm fluffy towel. He found everything neatly folded on a stool with a small hastily written note.  
“Welcome home! -Your Brothers” said the slightly damp piece of paper and Arno found himself smiling: it was kind of cute how these crazy people could be so openly and absolutely unconventionally a family. Not his real -lost- family but something he maybe could fit in just right.

The recruit took his time to get ready and, when he unlocked the door, he found the pint-sized bastard glaring up at him. Apparently the yappy pain-in-the-ass  was still pissed.  
It was kind of a ridiculous sight but Arno miraculously managed to keep his face set on a bored, half-annoyed expression. _Bravo_ , by the way.  
“Ander sent me to tell you dinner’s ready. Fish soup.” he bellowed already halfway down the hall “Hope it’ll meet his uselessness’ tastes” this last part was a low venomous hiss but loud enough to be heard.  
Arno decided to ignore the little jerk and wander down the hall following the heavenly smell of spices to the big kitchen.

Everyone was already there cooking and getting everything ready and Arno almost felt like he was a little kid again spending hours in the warm kitchen eating sweets with Elise -but he was alone and the maids were the strange hooded men he was supposed to work and live with.

“There it is our fledgling, all clean and ready!” greeted Ander turning around from the pot he was stirring with a big smile “We’ve improvised a small welcome party, nothing too fancy but that’s the best you can have these days” then he went to fish some mismatched plates from the old pantry.  
“It’s more than enough, _merci beaucoup*_ ” was Arno’s answer as he went about to help but Finn simply pushed him down to a chair with a slight headshake.  
“Tonight’s on us” he grinned placing a steaming bowl of delicious-smelling soup on the table “even got the good stuff out just for you! Recruits are rarer than sane politicians so we should treat our fledglings with care!”

Arno blushed a bit at the attention, they acted like the most enthusiast of housemaids and that made a feeling of uncomfortably familiar homeliness bloom in his chest.  
He decided to ignore it and instead engaging in some casual conversation.

“So,” he started while filling his plate with soup “what’s so special about me that got me out of prison and here?”  
The others looked at each other and shook their heads, Corbin with a disdained scowl.  
Ander whispered something in Finn’s ear and the giant simply shrugged, the universal do-what-you-want sign.  
“Well,” started the scholar suddenly squirming uncomfortably in his place “to put it simple the Council couldn’t let you die... or become a Templar.You’re one of the last Nobles and also a Descendant  which makes you uh, valuable”  
Why thank you, Gingerbird but that doesn’t explain a thing, thought Arno bitterly. “If you didn’t want me to become a Templar why hadn’t you picked me up years ago?” he asked now even more confused.  
“They thought you dead” answered Corbin through a mouthful of soup -rude as always- “the Council sent out research parties to get you back but they found nothing beside the obvious bloody mess Cormac leaves behind-”  
“But now you’re here with us and that’s all that matters, _c’est pas vrai_?” hastily chimed in Ander effectively cutting the little jerk out “Let’s leave the gloom and doom talk for later!”

Arno felt like the bubbly scholar was hiding something but honestly, he was too tired and hungry to care and beside that, there were things in his past that should be left alone. For example the fact that his memories started the summer of his tenth birthday after Monsieur De La Serre took him in, weird right?  
Oh well, maybe he could get some answers out of this Assassin adventure too.

He quickly finished his second helping of delicious soup, careful to scoop up every tiny bit.  
“Thank you!” he smiled, now pleasantly full “ _C’etait magnifique*_!”  
“Glad you liked it!” grinned back Finn getting up to clean off the table “That was my Granny’s recipe, nothing special but warm and comforting like nothing else. ‘Thought you’d need it after what you went through!”  
Arno blushed a bit at all the attention, one thing were servants another was almost-strangers welcoming you in their home like part of the family, he thought pushing away his (almost) clean plate.  
“I think I’ll go to bed” yawned the young recruit feeling every bit tired and achy “Thank you for everything-”  
“Not so fast,” grinned Ander pushing him back down to his seat “we still have a little surprise for you!”  
The lanky redhead pulled a scrap of dark cloth out of one of his many pockets “May I?” he asked tying the makeshift blindfold over Arno’s eyes.  
The young recruit simply nodded knowing he had no say in this and, frankly, too damn tired to care.  
Ander almost forcefully pulled him up and away from the table -quite strong for such a scarecrow- then carefully guided him down the hall.  
“What’s the point of making me walk around like this?” asked Arno after what seemed like hours of almost running into everything “I’ll live here after all”  
“Builds up trust” explained the bubbly redhead tugging him up the stairs by his shirtsleeve “sometimes the work in the dark thing involves literal pitch-black places so you have to learn to use your Sight and trust your Brothers”  
Well this makes a bit much sense, thought Arno stumbling on the last step and this time almost falling flat on his face.  
“Pathetic” muttered Corbin from somewhere near him, Why was that offensive little jerk following them by the way?

They walked down the hall until Ander told him he could finally -oh finally- take off the annoying blindfold. The three were standing just in front of a closed door, Corbin looking bored, Ander almost vibrating out of his skin in barely contained excitement and Arno just plainly confused.  
The bubbly scholar opened the door with a small bow “Your surprise” he announced grinning from ear to ear.  

Arno followed the bubbly red head into a spacious room where a big dresser filled with every kind of clothes and weaponry were carefully put on display, and sat on a puffy armchair. The boy still looked tired and bit beaten but after a bath and a good lunch, he felt a lot more human.  

“Now then,” Ander said as he searched through the vast array of materials. “Let’s find some robes for the new Assassin?”

Corbin scoffed, “The new Assassin, huh! Look, _chico_ , you may be getting new clothes, but this isn’t all fun and games.”

“Yes? I can see that…” Arno quizzically said back with a raised eyebrow.

“Obviously not,” laughed Ander, adding another overcoat—a hideous orange thing—to the maybe pile. “But don’t worry! You’re in good hands!” He carefully looked the ugly jacket up and down. “We’ll teach you how to fight, the history of the Order and—you can use Eagle Vision, _c’est vrai_?”

While Ander kept bubbling about, Arno took one glance at the orange monstrosity and mentally screamed. No way in hell he was going to run around Paris in that eyesore.  
“Eagle Vision?” he asked more confused than ever. “You mean the strange glow that helped me find your hideout, right?”

“Bellec gave you a riddle to solve, didn’t he?” Corbin asked, anticipating the scenario. “An Assassin is nothing without his Eagle Vision. To trust them to find our sanctuary without betraying our secrets is but the first test.”

“This is so amazing! Eagle Vision is a rare talent, you know, a blessing in battle but tricky too...” Ander decided to toss the jacket into the burn pile. “The Eagle can be of great help but she uh, has a bit of an attitude. When you make her do something she doesn’t like she well, punishes you.” another jacket -bright pink this time- went into the ‘maybe’ pile.  “To be honest, I’m glad I don’t have it; killer headache every time I take a swim? _Non, merci_. And besides that, Cor, what you said was a bit rude: what an Assassin really needs is the will to make this world a better place, not only noble blood.”

“Yeah, yeah, give Rookie a year if he survives, and see if he still agrees with you,” The Assassin in the green coat rolled his eyes.

“And what are you doing here, besides giving snarky comments?” Arno pointed at Corbin. “Aren’t there supposed to be three of you ‘supervising’ me now?”

“Finn’s up getting supplies. I was sent here to make sure Ander didn’t get carried away with suiting you up.”

“Oh give me a break!” Ander exclaimed. “Give him a break, Cor! Why do we have to hurry up all of a sudden?”

“Because, Andy, I don’t want to spend my day playing Rookie dress up,” hissed Corbin picking up a scattered belt, “or listen to your cheap Novice-friendly speech more than necessary!”

“Um, gentlemen?” Arno spoke up, catching the squabbling pair’s attention. “I think I like this one the best.”

The young, soon-to-be-adjusted Assassin held up a blue longcoat and a red cravat.

Corbin was dumbfounded. “Great, now you look like the hero of some romantic adventure.”

“For me, it’s perfect!” Ander smiled, dropping the armful of coats and jackets he was carrying. “Suits him well and it’s a good omen too—-nothing better than starting under the colors of our Guardian Bird! We have a lucky Novice here!”

“I am?” Arno seemed quite confused and couldn’t really understand what the other two were talking about; it was just the less-uglier coat of the pile.

“Of course you are, you silly fledgling!” laughed Ander as he put on a pair of thick, round, very big glasses. “These are the colors of the Peregrine Falcon, the Guardian Bird of the French Brotherhood. Maybe you’re destined to become a legend like the Masters of old, who knows?”

Arno simply shrugged and started to put his new coat on enjoying the feeling of clean warm clothes after being stuck in disgusting prison rags for too long; he still was confused about all the fuss over his look but he secretly liked being spoiled by his new friends.

The material was warm, soft and surprisingly light at the same time and there were small silvery decorations along the many pockets and linings giving the whole thing a stylish elegant aesthetic.  
Such a pity it was designed for slightly taller people and the sleeves were just too long.

He felt kind of ridiculous, like a kid trying on his father’s Army coat but the sensation was also very familiar.

_Warm (brown?) velvet, playing with a loose thread, small golden buttons engraved with the strange A-like crest that made his eyes sting a bit when he stared at it for too long -_

“-Arno?” called a slightly concerned voice “Are you alright? You just spaced out on us…”  
The young recruit let out a startled little yelp -so embarrassing!- “Uh, _oui_ ” he muttered shying away from Ander’s curious gaze “I’m just tired, I guess”  
He felt stupid enough for getting entranced by the linings on a stupid coat but being stared at like some weird creature was a bit too much, really.  
“Of course you are” conceded Ander with a knowing smile “Finn’s getting your room ready, don’t worry!”

Arno quickly changed back to his civil clothes, carefully folded back the blue coat piling the matching belts and straps on top and suddenly realized there was something missing in his new outfit.  
“I really don’t want to sound rude” he started as he picked up some stray items he found interesting “but why don’t I have a red sash like yours?”

“That’s a good question!” grinned the scholar placing a pair of simple leather gloves on top of the pile “We get our sash only after our first accomplished mission during a ceremony at the Council’s presence” he explained in a reverent tone “it’s the sign that a Novice is officially part of the Creed and a physical reminder of the bond that ties us as Brothers, your grown-up feathers as you can say!”

Sure these people had a thing for dramatics, Arno nodded tiredly not trusting his mind to handle the whole concept better than this but finding the idea of them as birds oddly hilarious. He laughed to himself softly, too damn tired to care of what the other two could think. That he was crazy, probably.

“Don’t get too hyped about that, _princeza_ ” Corbin quipped in with his casual (unwelcomed) sarcasm “you have to get through us first and it won’t be pretty or easy. I’ll personally make sure you’ll fight nails and teeth for your place.”

Arno would have straight up punched the little jerk but again, too tired so he just ignored him.  
“Shut up, will you?” he groaned heavily leaning on the wall to gather up enough energies to crawl downstairs and finally into bed.

\--------------------------------------------------

“-Aww, _il est tout molle*_ ”  cooed Ander a bit too near to Arno’s ear -and a bit too loud- “maybe we should put our fledgling to sleep”  
The scholar laughed softly as the young recruit felt himself being lifted by strong velvet-clad arms; the young Novice would have immediately tried to wriggle out but he had no energy for that. Not even a little bit.  
And beside that he was pretty sure struggling would have been quite useless, he was just one half-starved boy against three very strong well-trained Assassins after all.  
So he simply relaxed as much as he could, buried his beet-red face into Finn’s warm coat and closed his eyes. Maybe if he’d played dead the others would leave him alone.     
“I really don’t know what got into Mirabeau’s mind to make us look after this pathetic midget!” muttered a third bitterly annoyed heavily accented voice. The little green bastard of course, thought Arno with a low long-suffering groan, why couldn’t the tiny jerk shut the hell up for once?  
“Should I remind you that you quite literally swooned into Master Bellec’s arms during your Initiation, dear Corbin?” Finn’s deep Welsh accent reverberated through Arno’s chest like distant thunder, oddly familiar and comforting. It was the same half-remembered sensation of safety contempt and warmth he felt earlier trying on the too big coat mixed with the slight dizziness that came with sleepless nights and days on the run.  
He didn’t know when he last slept in a real bed in fact, now that he came to think of it.  
Corbin muttered something under his breath but it was in Spanish and Arno was too dead tired to translate.  
After a couple seconds a door slammed close followed by Ander’s exasperated sigh. “He’s such an ass sometimes!” rants on the ginger scholar, voice low enough not to disturb the almost asleep Novice in Finn’s arms but heated enough to let all his teammates know how pissed he was. Damn, the usually -as long as Arno knew- happy go lucky redhead sounded so disappointed and just plain mad it was almost sad.

Meanwhile the three Assassins had reached the bottom of the stairs to the first floor.  
Arno has woken up enough to realize the leader of the people he had just met was carrying him like a baby. “ _Laissez-moi descendre_ *,” he asked as firmly as he could without sounding too whiny “I can walk, really.” Well, he more or less could but mon Dieu!, better falling flat on his face than being hauled about like a sack of grains.  
Ander walked into his field of vision with a sweet reassuring smile “Of course you can but it’d be easier if you let us help you” that to Arno sounded an awful lot like a sugar-coated threat “using Eagle Vision for the very first time’s a very tiring business and, beside that, you should learn to trust us!”  
The young Novice didn’t know what that exactly meant but the scholar was, sadly, right; just trying to get back on his feet had burned out what little energy he had leaving him absolutely spent.  
Ander kept on talking but Arno wasn’t listening anymore, his friend’s voice was nothing but pleasantly musical white noise as he fell into a dreamless sleep.  

 

-TRANSLATIONS-

*Vive les Assassins: Long live the Assassins

*Princeza: Princess

*Je crois: I believe, I think

*Chico: Little boy

*Quoi?: What?

*Désolè: Sorry (here Arno is using the formal vous)

*C'est pas vrai?: Isn't it true, as in "Right?"

*C'etait magnifique: It was delicious (again the dinner-with-the-Queen formality)

*Il est tout molle: he's all soft, as in ragdoll limp

*Laissez-moi descendre: let me go              


	3. 02- Assassins' School

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Arno is perpetually confused, Corbin plays war, Ander is excited about revolution and Finn is the Tired Dad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A special thank you to the ever-professional, totally awesome Dove for shining up this chapter and to the dear Tofu, evil genius, adorable friend and best co-conspirator ever. Thank you my birds!

**02, Assassins’ School**

Arno’s day started at dawn with a very excited someone loudly knocking at his door and calling him. The young Novice simply ignored the awfully happy voice and tried to go back to sleep, he wasn’t used to be up this early.

“Go away!” he shouted moodily burying his face into the pillow “I’m dead!” This one was quite stupid, he had to admit, but it was still dark outside for God’s sake.

“That’s quite funny,  _ mon ami _ , but we’re already late on your training plans! Open at ten or I’ll pick the door open-”

The young recruit cursed under his breath, how can you be late even before starting?, he asked himself slowly sitting up.

He looked around the room - _ his _ room, he reminded himself- still half asleep trying to remember how exactly he ended up in there then it hit him: the big guy, Finn?, had carried him to bed like a baby!

The thought alone was enough to literally kick him awake, made him jump out of the covers and throw the door open in the blink of an eye.

And almost run into a very smiley, slightly confused Ander carrying a neat pile of clothes and weaponry.

“I’ve fixed your gear” he started in lieu of a normal  _ bonjour _ “Glad to see you awake, by the way! Finn said you’d be asleep for a whole day at least but there you are bright and early!” 

Immensely embarrassed, Arno bowed clumsily. “I-I,  _ merci beaucoup _ !” he squeaked in a terribly high-pitched tone, cheeks redder than the angry Parisians’ flags “I was very tired, last night I mean- I didn’t know w-what came over me to fall asleep like that!” The boy was rambling uncontrollably jumbling his words in too quick to be clearly understood whispering.

Ander laughed softly. “There’s no need to apologize, really” he said while inviting himself in Arno’s room “you had a uh, eventful week and it’s only natural that your body claimed some rest! I’m just a bit surprised to see you already up and about, that’s all!”

The young scholar waltzed around the almost empty room checking on everything like a fussy handmaid and muttering to himself in an harsh language Arno could not recognize.

“ _ Excuse-moi _ ,” started the Novice after a long quite awkward silence “what language are you speaking? It sounds quite like German but not entirely…” He was just desperate to make a positive impression on his new teammate and showing off some book smarts seemed a good start.

“ _ Chapeau! _ ” cheered Ander “I was speaking Danish in fact, a thing I tend to do when talking to myself. My  _ maman  _ was from Denmark and I spent my childhood in her hometown” there his voice softened notably ad if he was reminiscing something bittersweet “but I had to leave quite early,unfortunately.”

“I’m sorry” apologized Arno, in part in sympathy for the man’s sad past and in part for being nosy. He really felt like an idiot.

Ander smiled sweetly and patted the Novice’s shoulder in reassurance. “It’s alright, _ mon ami, _ it was long time ago and we both were very small so there’s no need to apologize. What other Templars did isn’t your fault, after all!”

Well, that’s very mature of him, thought Arno with a tad of admiration, I can’t help but hate the man who threw me in this mess! 

Ander gave a small embarrassed laugh and waved his gloved hand in a sweeping gesture ad if physically shooing away the unpleasant conversation, then busied himself in sorting out the small collection of books kept on a shelf near the only window.

“You can take up some books from the shop if you want” he informed “or from my personal collection” he added with a wink “if you like more exciting titles, the clandestine printers are coming up with some uh, entertaining booklets recently.”

Arno blushed, imagining what those publications could be about but thanked him anyway for the offer. 

Ander laughed, a polite little sound that conveyed both amusement and kindness: that was exactly how a friend’s laugh sounded like,  Arno thought with a smile. It reminded him of Elise.  _ Dieu _ how he missed her. 

Arno picked up his new uniform and inspected it, just to distract his mind from unpleasant memories: he calmly ran his fingers along the motives of small feathers, realizing that now the coat fit him almost perfectly and an impressive array of empty holsters was added to the pile. 

“Don’t worry if you don’t have any weapon” quipped up Ander’s distracted voice “you’ll have to make do with dulled blades until your basic training is over.”

“Wait, why?” asked the young Recruit a little offended “I’m a competent fencer, thank you very much” His teachers had even said he had a rare talent and that had happened when was twelve, when his other classmates were still learning the ABC of dueling, so why was he still treated like an incompetent beginner? He had hold his ground just fine back in the Bastille and even that insufferable old man hadn’t made a negative comment on his skills-

“I’m sorry,” Ander smiled apologetically “Corbin’s orders and, for once, I agree with him.” 

The scholar looked away, a slight blush coloring his cheeks “It’s not that we don’t trust you,  _ cher  _ Arno, but you are new… untested, I mean…”  

Of course it’s that green bastard’s fault, thought Arno gathering up his equipment and disappearing behind the screen to change for the day; he felt sort of betrayed seeing his soon-to-be partners so openly making fun of his skills. It wasn’t his fault that he had been raised by Templars, after all! Again, on the other side, he realized that from a certain point of view they had their reasons for being wary of him: it was only for a bizarre twist of fate that he ended up on the Assassins’ side and, even if they had welcomed him in their hideout, he still was a potential threat… 

They talked about powers, rambled on about his supposed specialness but, despite all their fussing, he was stuck there learning everything from scratch when he should be out there hunting down the bastards who killed his father-

“Please get ready, Arno.” Ander quickly left the young recruit’s room, his tone brisk and slightly hurried as if the scholar couldn’t stay in the room a minute more.

\-----------

It took Arno a bit of time to understand how to correctly put his gear on and even more to navigate the maze-like mansion but in the end he managed to reach the kitchen just in time to grab the last boiled egg and a slightly burnt scone.

The other three had already finished and were too busy loudly arguing, about what the young Novice couldn’t tell.

“-We don’t have time to report to the Council,” nearly shouted Ander waving about a rolled up map to emphasize his point “the situation is getting every day worse! Had you been out in the streets recently? This violence and paranoia isn’t natural, I’m telling you!”

Finn looked out of the window, apparently lost in his thoughts. “I don’t think we can handle this on our own” he reasoned in a deliberately calm tone “we should ask for support, or at least an helping hand in hunting down this Piece of Eden things-”

“You can’t take this from me! I spent the last year studying them, it’s the only way I can be useful-” poor Ander looked on the verge of a nervous breakdown, a strange sight that made Arno feel even more uncomfortable. 

The young Novice didn’t want to get involved in a heated discussion on God only knows what so he quietly retrieved his share of bread and coffee and went to sit in a corner, as far as he could from the others.

They kept on yelling at each other until Corbin angrily got up from his seat, marched over to the small balcony and just climbed out of the window. No one made a move to stop him so Arno guessed it was fairly normal in the Assassins’ household to use windows instead of doors.

Strange, the last time he’d done that back at home the housemaids had thought him possessed and sent for a priest…

“-There you are, kid!” Finn’s booming voice startled Arno out of his musings “Are you ready for your first lesson?” The big man was smiling jovially as if nothing happened.

Arno blushed furiously and put down his coffee cup. “ _ Oui, Monsieur _ ” he saluted in a loud military-like tone; his old fencing teacher required to be saluted so Arno didn’t see why he shouldn’t do the same now.

At that Finn let out a barking laugh and Ander almost choked on his coffee; the Novice, horribly embarrassed, squeaked out an even more formal string of apologies but that made the other two laugh even harder.

“Don’t be offended,  _ cher _ Arno, we weren’t making fun of you” explained Ander when he calmed down enough to speak “it’s just that we didn’t know Templars’ training included etiquette, they’re always so arrogant and self-possessed we thought it was part of their education.”

Arno didn’t understand what they were talking about, he was studying to become a refined member of the aristocracy not some sort of sword-and-cape villain after all, but knowing he hadn’t made a fool of himself -again- made him feel marginally better.

\---------------------------------------------------

The first lesson consisted in hand-to-hand combat with Finn, or more accurately the big man asking Arno to ‘come at him’ and the boy ending up on the ground without even laying a hand on the bear-like leader. It was frustrating and kind of humiliating but after a while Arno understood why they had made him start from the basics: everything he had learned so far was utterly and completely useless out of the dueling ground. In a real fight no one respected the infinite series of complicated rules he had been taught.

To his great surprise Finn had been nothing but patient and supportive – saintly so even – good-naturedly correcting Arno’s many mistakes without losing his temper or snapping at him like his previous teachers did.

“Now,” announced the big man theatrically clapping his hands “I’ll show you what a fight between trained Assassins looks like. Corbin!” he bellowed “Come over here, will you?”

The little weapons expert, who had spent the morning in the shade of a tree working on some contraption, eagerly got up, picked a small something from the weapons rack  and joined them in the spacious courtyard.

“Let’s put up a bit of a show for the fledgling?” Finn was smiling, a ferocious wolf-like grin that made him look completely different from the jovial giant he had been just moments ago. 

Corbin shrugged off his heavy coat and charged at Finn with a low growl; Arno carefully and silently backed off as far as he could. 

The two Assassins looked more and more like wild animals as they circled and studied each other, in these wary stances they reminded Arno of the feral cats that sometimes fought on the rooftops at night. Each one was dangerous in his own way and, only in that moment, he truly realized what these people were truly capable of.

Time seemed to stretch as the two studied each other, Finn staring down at his small opponent with a small smile, as Corbin looked in the big man’s general direction, his eyes slightly clouded and unfocused. For a moment Arno thought that the sharpshooter’s eyes had changed color, from dark green to an unnatural shade of gold but then, as the man took a cautious step to the side, the effect simply vanished.   

“Come on,  _ papie _ , do your worst!” laughed Corbin as Finn charged at him like a bull; the big man almost tackled him to the ground but, at the very last moment, the small sharpshooter leaped out of reach with the grace of a ballerina.

Finn abruptly changed direction without losing his speed and, lifting the padded nightstick he was using instead of his trusted axe over his head, made for Corbin’s defenseless back—

At that Arno let out a small sound of amazement: he had never seen anything so exciting since his twelfth birthday when M.De La Serre took him to see a traveling circus of acrobats from Russia.

However the sound was enough to warn Corbin who, without even looking, backflipped right over Finn’s head using the bat as a lever.

He landed on his feet like a cat, a proud little skip in his last step. “I won,” he stated calmly.

There was a large splat of green paint right in the middle of Finn’s enormous chest.

The big man looked down at his ruined waistcoat. “Oh,” he said with a half-surprised, half-annoyed sigh, “you murdered my last clean waistcoat!” Then he dramatically collapsed to the ground laughing.

“Laundry is on you!” he shouted, still lying in the dirt. “You hear me, you little devil!”

Corbin made a rude hand gesture, serenely gathered his coat, and walked back to his tinkering. “Like hell, old man!” he shouted back when he was already at work.

Arno really didn’t know what to think or say: nothing like that had ever been allowed in Versailles. He didn’t even know a man could move with such speed and deadly grace; he was so amazed and terrified at the same time that he just stood there, mouth slightly open in an expression of comical disbelief.

Finn looked him over with an amused half-smile. “Oh shit,” he said, laughing heartily. “I think we broke the fledgling!”

\---------------------------------------------

The rest of the evening passed slowly as Finn decided to teach Arno how to use a phantom blade and discovered, after a gruesome incident involving an innocent pigeon, that the boy had a terrible aim and needed to spend some time shooting at practice targets before moving, as the big man put it, to the fun parts.

When lunchtime arrived Arno was aching all over, covered in dirt from the training session and absolutely starving.

Ander welcomed them at the backdoor. He was dressed in a stylish civilian’s attire and looked worried.

“I visited some journalist friends this morning,” he announced, sitting at the kitchen table with a huge sigh. “Something big is going to happen – there’s talk of an uprising which will end this state of things.”

Everyone stopped what they were doing and paid complete attention to the scholar’s words.

“You mean that they will try to overthrow the monarchy?” asked Finn.

“I think so, yes.” Now Ander didn’t seem that worried or upset anymore. “The current government is corrupt, oppressing and, I don’t have to remind you, infested with Templars.” 

The conversation was very difficult for Arno to follow: for one, he didn’t understand what an order of medieval Crusaders had to do with the state of permanent bankruptcy France was in; for another, he didn’t know why all this talk of revolution was so important to them, and, most importantly, he had no idea why no one was explaining anything to him.

Corbin got up from his usual seat near the fireplace and marched over to the window. “We should report to the Council immediately,” he said, gazing at the distant rooftops. “This mess could end badly without direction.”

Finn thought it over a few moments. “You’re right,” agreed the big man, then adding, in authoritative tone, “Go.”

The little sharpshooter opened the window and gracefully leaped out.

“Uh,  _ excusez-moi _ ?” asked Arno with a small, polite cough. “I didn’t understand anything you just said…”

The other two stared at him like he had suddenly sprouted wings and the young recruit felt, again, very stupid.

\--------------------------------------------

After a quick lunch, Arno had been ordered to get himself presentable, change into civilian clothes and meet with Ander down at the bookshop.

He washed off and changed as quickly as he could and, by the time he reached the first floor slightly out of breath, Ander was already there patiently waiting for him. Without his cowl, Assassin’s coat, and assorted weaponry, the scholar looked younger and strangely harmless. It was disconcerting and almost embarrassing, like accidentally seeing the man in a state of undress.

Ander welcomed him with a sweet smile, then made for one of the cushy chairs. “Please sit with me,” he invited, gently pointing at the nearby sofa. Arno dutifully sat where he was told. He felt like a schoolboy at his first lesson with a new teacher, excited and more than a bit nervous.

“First of all,” started Ander, picking up a quill and a notebook, “what do you know of our Creed and ways?”

Arno thought it over for a few moments: what  _ did _ he know? The answer hit him like a punch to the gut: he didn’t know a thing about these men or what they believed in, let alone the organization they were part of. He looked around, desperate for some sort of inspiration and his gaze fell on the decorative buttons lining Ander’s jacket.That symbol! He knew that crest – it was the same one he’d seen in his dream – or vision – the previous night.

“Not much,” he said hesitantly, “but I think it has to do with my past…” The young recruit felt embarrassed of his own insecurity. He had never told anyone of his blurry childhood memories – not even Elise – and spilling his secrets to Ander made him feel somewhat exposed, naked in a way.

Ander stopped what he was writing and stared straight into Arno’s eyes. Again, Arno had the impression of an owl studying its prey with its big unnerving glare; he didn’t like it, not even a bit.

“Did you hear M.De La Serre talk of Assassins?” asked Ander. Now his tone was urgent and his stance tense.

Arno shook his head, confused. “No, not that I know of… But I saw that symbol you carry before, I was very young and I remember little of the man who wore it…” He tried to concentrate on the details of the man in the brown – Assassin’s? – coat from his dream, but the harder he strove to remember, the more the image slipped away. “I only remember that one moment he was in Versailles with me and the next he was gone... he abandoned me, I guess…”

Ander looked away, a sad expression on his doll-like face. “Oh,  _ cher  _ Arno,” he whispered in a heartfelt, almost fervent tone. “I’m so sorry!” His blue eyes had a suspiciously liquid shine, but Arno decided to ignore that particular detail: it was bad enough he was spilling his secrets to a man he’d known for not even a full day, but the thought that said man was on the verge of tears because of his story made him feel highly uncomfortable.

“Kids got abandoned every day, not a big deal.” He laughed, trying to lighten the mood. “At least the bastard had the decency to drop me at some filthy rich nobleman’s palace!”

The dry joke was intended to light up the gloomy atmosphere but, from the scholar’s heartbroken expression, it backfired spectacularly. Again Arno felt immensely stupid.

“He couldn’t do anything else, believe me.” Ander’s eyes scanned the room as if searching for something. “He did that to protect you.”

Now Arno’s curiosity was piqued. “From what?” he asked, confused. “I only remember that we traveled a lot, but…” The young Novice’s gaze fell on the decorated cane beside Ander’s chair. What use could a man who climbs buildings for a living have for a walking stick, he wondered, mildly intrigued by the strange detail. Then a realization hit him: the scholar kept it for self-defense and the elegant accessory was probably hiding some deadly contraption.

With that thought, something in Arno’s memories clicked into place: he remembered the dark, vaguely human shape perched on the roof in front of his childhood bedroom, the fact that he was terrified of it without any reason beside knowing, deep down, that it was evil, and he also remembered how worried the man in the brown coat had been when little Arno told him about the evil shape. Then they moved to that cute little village in Austria –

“– _ Bien? _ ” Ander’s half-worried, half-curious voice brought the recruit back from his strange thoughts.

“Uh, yes?” Arno felt confused, vaguely disoriented and unbelievably tired. “ _ Je crois _ , at least…”

Ander studied him for a few seconds, head slightly tilted to the side like he was trying to pick up a distant sound. “Your eyes became golden and you looked sick all of a sudden. You looked like you were about to faint, in fact.” The scholar seemed genuinely worried, but there was a barely-hidden hint of curiosity in his soul-searching gaze. “What did you see?” 

Again the blunt question took the young Novice by surprise. “Well, I…” Arno was desperately trying to make sense of what just happened but unlike the other times, he held onto the images and sensations instead of letting them slip away. “There’d been times, I was about three years old I think, when I just couldn’t sleep… I was too, uh, aware of things around me… I saw a glowing shape on the rooftop, sometimes just for a moment, and others it loomed there for longer… I was terrified of it. That, I remember very clearly,”

Arno leaned bonelessly on the sofa; the strange experience and following conversation had left him absolutely exhausted, even if he couldn’t understand why. Yes, he had spent the morning being thrown around like a mistreated doll, but that had happened hours ago–

“What color?” asked Ander so suddenly it nearly made Arno jump out of his skin.

“ _ Quoi? _ ” was the recruit’s confused reply. Not a pearl of wit, he had to admit, but his sluggish mind couldn’t come up with anything better at the moment.

“The ghostly shape from your childhood,” clarified the scholar. “You said it glowed. What color?” There was a small thrilled glint in the man’s eyes that made Arno feel like some specimen on a dissecting table.

Arno shook his head, as if physically trying to rid it of the fog. “Red,” he whispered after a while, and then more clearly: “It was red.”

At that Ander abruptly got up from his chair and started picking books off the shelves to pile on the small table in front of Arno’s seat. The Novice stared in bewilderment at the sheer amount of books cluttering the tiny space. “What am I expected to do with all this?” he asked when the precarious book tower reached his eye level.

“You study them, of course,” was Ander’s casual reply. “This is all you need to know before we can seriously start your training.” He pointed to the huge pile of books. “Some essays and manuals on strategy, warfare, and combat techniques from around the world. You’ll need them to keep up with our local green devil, believe me! Basic medical publications over there and,  _ dulcis in fundo _ , the history of our Brotherhood from its foundation to present times!”

That said, Ander picked a crimson cape from the coats rack in the corner and hastily made for the door.

“But what about my visions?” Arno nearly shouted,feeling irrationally abandoned and more than a bit frustrated. “What if it happens again, I don’t know, in battle? Or while climbing something?” He was being overdramatic, that was clear, but now that the metaphorical Pandora’s Box had been cracked open there was no way he would obediently close it again. No sir.

Ander stopped a moment to adjust the hideous cape. “Ask Corbin,” he said with a small, apologetic smile. “He will know what to do, but I can’t tell you more at the moment. Later, probably, but not now.” 

Arno really wanted to know why but, before he could even utter a word, the scholar was gone in a twirl of Revolutionary red velvet. Great.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------

The sky had already turned almost black when Arno put away the tome he had been trying to memorize; he had been so engrossed in his studies he hadn’t noticed that Ander had returned from his mysterious stroll and had been asleep on the loveseat probably for hours.

The young recruit put away the book and, as quietly as he could, crept over to his friend. He knew it was a strange thing to do, but at times he was too curious for his own good: the man looked exhausted and his elegant jacket was singed and stained with what Arno hoped was red ink. To put it simply, the friendly scholar looked like he had barely escaped a riot… but what was he doing communing with extremists? What was going on, and, more importantly, why was everyone so hell-bent on keeping him away from Assassins’ business as much as they could?

After a couple moments spent glaring at the sleeping man, Arno decided it was time to get some well-deserved rest.

He made for the main stairs, but, halfway down the room, he realized he needed to wake Ander first. Of course, he could leave the man there – it’d even serve him right for leaving Arno behind – but, honestly, that would be needlessly petty. After all, he needed to make solid alliances to get the means to win back Elise’s trust and avenge M. de La Serre.      

**Author's Note:**

> CHARACTERS SHEET
> 
> Ander Mistral (Ice Cream)
> 
> Corbin Silva O'Donnel (Greencoat)
> 
> Finnian "Finn" Noble (Axe)


End file.
